How to Insult a Guy

Vent Post #3
I've been venting a lot lately. Yes, for me, three times is a lot. I've been called the "whatever man" and "the sane" one for so long I'm not sure if I have these other feelings. So yeah, I'm still just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. It's not gonna fix anything and probably won't make me feel better. And I repeat, there are NO answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some. You won't either. Don't try.

You want to know how to insult a guy? Tell him that he's a great guy.

Er..what?

I get told I'm a great guy lots of times a day. I get told I'm a great guy for somebody else.

See? See what I did there?

It's a backhanded compliment with a sneer. I know to the person speaking it you might even mean well, but to the person receiving this it's the same as punch to the gut. No, it's actually worse, because you can be angry at a punch to the gut and maybe punch back, and to this you just kinda feel withered inside. It ranks right up there with "I'm sorry" in the pantheon of most useless phrases in the English language.

I sound bitter you say? I should. But tone doesn't discount truth.

If I'm so great, then why don't they (the assaulting person) want to be with me? There is obviously something wrong. I'd prefer to hear what I can improve to be more desirable than to be given babble and baby kudos. I understand tact and sensitivity, but if we get to the point where we're even having that conversation...and implied knowledge of who I am... then honesty is more appreciated.

Actual help is always more important than mutually masturbatory encouragement. If there is an issue you as the woman is aware of, then improving or assisting with improvement would only be appreciated.

And you'd be surprised how many other guys feel the same way.

I'll serve myself from the home bar.

This Person We're Going to Marry One Day

Vent Post #2
It's really just me yelling into the electronic darkness again because I'm not really looking for an answer, I'm just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. There are no answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some. If I happen to step on a metaphorical toe, it might means your mental feet aren't where you thought they were.

Now this person we're going to marry, we're going to share with them our hopes and dreams, our fears and triumphs, our colds and upset stomachs. This person is going see us at our best and at our worst, we're going to eat and get drunk with them, go to church and sin with them, talk for hours about life, bullshit and things we still want to do. They're going to look out for us, we're going to look out for them and the whole nine.

In other words they'll have to be your friend. Your best friend.

And you'll fuck them too.

This is an epiphany. Can you see the light?

What this means is that most of us have to make a mental leap that we're not prepared for, - we'll have to combine friend and lover. And I know most of us aren't ready for it, because I've recently heard the idea of sleeping with your friend as THE "fatal mistake" and other thinking along those lines. But the truth of it is, because so many in the past 20 years or so mentally have separated the images of both the divorce rates have skyrocketed.

There are some other mitigating factors - economic changes, loss of the stigma of divorce, etc, but the basic concept that happens even before you get to that point, is that the people getting married tend to love each other...but don't actually like each other.

How can you love someone...but not like them?

Or rather...how can you sleep with someone and not like them?

A lot of men, and lately the women have joined in as well, think from below the waistline. They "fall" for the person that turns them on sexually. And overlook the bad qualities, the warning signs, the screaming facts that blare at them that this person, while cute and sexy (or handsome, etc), should be avoided at all costs. Or realistically, utilized as ONLY a quick ...er...quickie. Okay maybe twice, but that's it.

A young lady once described it to me as there are "men you like, men you love and men you lust after...and rarely if ever does a woman find them all in the same man." I didn't see the wisdom in that statement until recently.

But what happens in practice is that people try to work it out. Poor naive peoples. Although they share little beyond the bedroom, they attempt to make this "love" of sorts work because good sex makes the brain go sleepy time now. Marriage does not magically change who you are. But you try. You find out that you're a day person, they're a night person. You save, they spend. You believe in having a job, house, car...they hustle. You have an education, they have a hard time reading street signs like STOP and LANE ENDS. Lack of respect, humiliation, no support, disturbing habits, etc, but they're just oh so fine naked and oiled up...aren't they?

Which is good, or at least okay for a while. Until real bills and real problems show up. Or kids get involved. And then it gets messy. And ugly. And maybe you end up standing in a cornfield at three am holding a suitcase, a bag of chicken nuggets, a bible and small dog named "Chi Chi" wondering if that thing they do with their tongue really is worth all this. And you realize that maybe what you need is someone who understands you...like a friend. And whereas you can shape your sexual urges and desires to some extent, real life bends for no man or woman.

It would be great, heck even easier, if we could make the person we sleep with our friend. But since our mind wasn't on anything of substance when we chose that person (no, the idea that they're sexy doesn't count as substance) and as most women will only grudgingly admit, finding someone you actually like and making friends is a hell of lot harder than picking someone to get naked with. Turning Mr. or Ms. Hey-you-good-morning into someone you can have a substantive conversation with takes mega millions winner luck and an act of God. It is a real head knocker.

In the course of the relationship - this lifetime relationship - you'll be lovers, friends, business partners, roommates, confidantes...etc. Too many of us stop at the first item and think the rest...all of them ..will just fall into place.

Yeah. Right.

So what is my suggestion?

Grow up, get your mind right, and tell your friend that you've got the baby oil, they need to bring the handcuffs. You might find somebody you can live with. Forever.

Think about it. Realistically they were on short time anyway, because things change once you find "the one".

Barkeep - What do you got for someone feeling philosophical?

A Man of the People?

This is a political post.
I don't do many of these, my views on politics are particularly slanted towards people who don't live by the mantra of free market and no taxes until something goes wrong, in which case they then scream and cry that the government needs to do something. I find it just a wee bit hypocritical. I only going to discuss politics when something catches my eye.

The latest concept of Republican's versus the Democrats has the GOP attempting to paint it's opponent in the general election, Mr. Obama, as elitist and out of touch with America.

This is after they realized they really couldn't play the race card.
This is after they realized talk of his lack of experience wasn't getting the desired effect.
This is after claiming he didn't sweat while working out must mean he's the anti-Christ.

I only semi made that last one up.

So how do you make a man who was raised by a single mother and his grandparents, worked as a community organizer, who's former job specialized in civil rights and neighborhood development and who still goes to his kids soccer games appear elitist?

Especially when compared to a man who's family was wealthy (his father and grandfather both admirals, not swabbies), who in his second marriage attached to a still wealthier family who gave him a cushy job and from there he moved directly to the Congress?

Don't ask me how, but they've done it before. Remember Dubya as someone you'd like to have a beer with? I mean really. Was that all it took? His family is the like an off-Brand Kennedy clan. I'm still wondering exactly how that happened. Twice.

Call me crazy, but how about a President who actually acts like a President? Someone who doesn't make up his mind before he has all the information, and isn't afraid to alter the plan if the circumstances change. Sometimes you need to make a change. Maybe someone who realizes that a lot of people aren't all for him and that they need to be respected as well. You know, act kinda like the rest of America and most of humanity when leading us?

So exactly how does a man who has pretty much lived outside the bounds of normal life - Military to cushy family job to politics - come across as a "regular" guy? Against a guy who actually went out and got a job - law professor based on his work in law school?

Here's a tip. Look at the shoes.

Here's Obama.

Well worn. Used. Practical.

And I understand McCain has been wearing black calfskin Salvatore Ferragamo ‘Pregiato’ Moccasins. Really really nice shoes.

Do I begrudge the guy for wearing nice shoes? He's an old guy, he needs good shoes. But then as most of us can't spend that much on shoes, even really good ones that will last years, who really fits more in the "above the crowd" slot?

Barkeep. Gimmie a little honesty with a dash of daring. No ice.

Weekend Out - Third Stage

Mental Rehab Post #10
Still not that crazy about weekends. Long periods of being alone...I hate being alone...combined with my own irrational and self deprecating thoughts and loads of bad television do not a fun time make. Someone asked what are you doing about being alone once, but that implies a friend or love can just be acquired or had like a garden rake or trip to the mall. Maybe for some, but for me it ain't that easy. Just like I don't want to be used, I'm not gonna just use somebody to make me feel better. Which brings me back to maybe I'm just too much of a nice guy?

Friday. So Friday I'm to attend a going away drop in for a departing co-worker. In a bad economy, in a more or less economic resistant business sector, it's apparently so "culturally bad" here my fellow employees still flee into the darkness rather stay at what is fast returning to the "plantation". A relatively safe and still hiring plantation, but a plantation nonetheless.

That's what I first called it when I got there, where I noted that among the throngs of employees that in a company roughly 60% African American that there was no non-white management on any level. Any level. But that the African Americans seemed to have the key responsibilities. But this place paid better than my old company, and I do enjoy eating AND paying bills. They have a few now...five years later, but there are still some shenanigans afoot.

So Friday to celebrate her departure we all revisited an old haunt that three years ago was overwhelmed with business every Friday night: the venerable Dave and Busters in Marietta. Why that stopped is story for another day. I hadn't been in ages. But I showed up as I hadn't been to a in some way company related function in probably the same amount of time, and I didn't want to look too anti-social. Looking back on that evening, anti-social might not have been my worst option.

First, I'm a little beyond D&B's right now. Anyplace that serves alcohol at a bar and allows other people's kids is already questionable in my book, and since the little ones seemed to racing around with reckless abandon, I wasn't really feeling it. So that's why I stopped coming to this place. Oh-kay then, right. My co-workers had taken a spot on the Midway Bar, and had begun sipping and chatting in earnest. I joined them in a slightly more subdued fashion.

There were in my opinion three highlights:
A) A woman bought me a drink. It doesn't seem like much, but from the land of freebies and hookups, somebody going into their pocket to get me is kind of a big deal. Especially a woman. That's a short list.
B) A brief conversation momentarily excited me, then scared me and then oddly comforted me. No, no details.
C) Somebody had to take the tipsy one home, and that doesn't mean me.

The tipsy one. So one of the every growing party, maybe some twenty folks strong, gets a little tipsy. Okay a lot tipsy. At one point she suggested one of the guys just "grab some ass" to get his point across, then bent over so he could get a good handful. She proclaimed her love for a number of gentlemen in a loud boisterous voice. A lot of hugs were given. One or two lively conversations were sparked. Then we decided perhaps it was time for her to go, but nobody was really ready to "go there." Someone suggested I should take her home. The look on my face at the very suggestion elicted a round of hearty laughter. I suggested that so as to not appear improper, that a couple should bear the duty. The statement "she's not our type" only now comes to memory. Funny statement.

So we all looked at one another as she danced about the bar area, attempting to steal drinks when the bar stopped serving her. Draftees were engaged. A few rounds of "not only no, but hell no" were heard. I made suggestion we take up money for cab fare and a few extra dollars as payment for the entertainment provided. That was voted down. The person who lived across the street from tipsy girl declined to take her home. It was implored that in her current state only a woman could be trusted with the action. The women thought we were nuts. The manager suggested that she be escorted out.

I'll end this by saying that today at work she appears none the worse for wear.

Saturday. Well I was supposed to do so much on Saturday. I had no groceries so I was supposed to take care of that, then some housewares, then clean up, then some computer work, then this cookout. My total travels on Saturday equaled a trip to the gas station.

Well, I wasted most of the day on cartoons and self pity. Then just as thinking about planning to start getting around to maybe doing something the rains came. And came. And shortly after that, the power went out. No big, it never stays out that long so I chill. The storm actually helps out with the heat, I get a chance to do some uninterrupted law school reading and burn some of my cool scented candles.

So then party time comes around, the home alarm is on a battery, so I'm like what the hell, let's go see what's up. Slim calls and says the lights are on at her spot and she got people falling through as well as my other function. So yeah, get out and see some folks.

The thing about living in an area "in transition" is that it's an area "in transition." In most neighborhoods, during a blackout folks stay home. In my neighborhood, somebody decided lighting firecrackers would be most ripping. Somebody else decided to have what was apparently a cookout. Music and hollering and all that. I'm like whatever, so I cold shower, get dressed and roll out. As I turned off my street I was surprised to see groups of folks wandering in the dark. Multiple groups. In pitch black streets out wandering. Just wandering.

It was right about then that I decided that maybe I should just find the first place with the lights on, get a drink and head on back to the house. Chill. Till the lights came back on. They didn't jump back on till one in the morning. Candles looked nice though. So Saturday was a bust mostly.

Sunday was even more wasted. Okay, I bought a new watch and did the grocery shopping, got the grass cut and saw a touch of the city, but I did it alone. That and I'm still spotting places I hadn't seen before and in my mind going "we need to pop in there and check that out" right before reality hits me. Then I got my football appetizer the Hall of Fame Game on NBC, which just happened to showcase Sporty's favorite team.

Gee, thanks God for all these reminders. I fucked up. I know this. You can ease up anytime.

It's been a minute and everyday it seems a little harder rather than a little easier. Suddenly Law School and it's all consuming concept doesn't seem so bad, as it at least it should speed the process to getting to whatever's next. Or make it all I think about in the few free hours I have. We'll find out shortly.

Barkeep...I dunno, something brown.

The mental needs a refit

This is a Vent Post!
This might have been a mental rehab post, but it's really just me yelling into the electronic darkness because I'm not really looking for an answer, I'm just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. There are no answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some.

Okay...I realized last night after my second night of hanging out with pseudo cousin (don't ask) that maybe, just maybe...okay, definitely...I got issues that will eventually need real therapy.

First, I finished my law school prep class. That's right, I've decided at the ripe old age of too damn old that I'm going to sacrifice a lot of free time and the rest of my personal sanity and go back to school. Most of my friends are attorneys so it's like I'll just be joining the club. Shortly I start at GSU on the path to a few years of too much gut and scut work. Yay me! Well, at least the folks will be happy.

Okay, now back to my issue. I mean it's more than a passing thought, it's like I have to stop myself in the store from picking stuff up. I'm trying to figure out what's on my mind here, like what the fuck am I doing? Part of it was riding over to my pseudo cousin's spot and thinking "we need to go see what's good in there" as I passed a funky new restaurant when there is no we anymore. I mean in theory, this is someone else's job now. So why am I now mentally planning out what to get Sporty for her birthday?

Well, I already got like part of it.. so, it's not like it would be complete if I left out the rest. The date is a month and a half away. I'm planning things. Considering items. Um, problem? Yep, got one.

A little history. A few years ago at Christmas time, the first holiday season after she and I had started hanging out, I'd given her a gift bag of a whole bunch of stuff (she's hard to shop for) and she'd been delighted. So one night she calls me at home and asks my shoe size. She wants to buy me shoes for Christmas. Nice shoes. Okay, at the time I didn't know they were nice shoes, but they were really nice, fairly expensive shoes. And I told her not to get them.

Oh, for a time machine.

Not one of my better decisions. Turn in my playa card kinda bad. One of my great regrets.

Some say you shouldn't dwell on these things. I say you should learn from past mistakes, so you don't make them again. Some would ask why I'm putting my business out in the street. It's this or things get ugly, gotta let it all out somewhere and your modern day single black man has few options to vent without getting ostracized. Should have taken the shoes.

So, will I be getting the girl something for her birthday. Yes. Is it foolish of me to do so? Possibly. Do I really care? No.

So let it be written, so let it be...ooooh, pie.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Landmark Diner Jr.

Mental Rehab Post #9
I'm knocking the dust off a concept, that I'm not sure I'm gonna continue. Most of these involved her, but a few of them don't, and since I gotta eat...well, when I remember, I may as well let ya'll in on what's out there. Even down and staggering, I still get out more than most. Maybe I'm doing it wrong.

So it's Saturday and it's brunch time, and although there are probably a thousand other restaurants in the city, when you're hungry and want consistency, you go to a diner. Midtown I would say the Majestic Diner, where I've had some interesting meals, but in Buckhead it's the Landmark Diner, a twenty four hour little gem that hides inside it the ability the cook a breakfast that is near magical...and also unintentionally fleece you. Seriously, I did not know you could get Lobster and eggs. (Have I told this story already?)

After the Citysearch incident, I copped out on looking and went for the Landmark Jr up at the corner of Roswell Rd and 285, right at the top of the perimeter. It's a spot on a corner where out one window is that hustle and bustle of still traffic on Roswell and the out the other a side street with a couple of shops. But when you're at the Landmark (or in this case, at the Junior) you're not there to look out the window.

I was a little late and Schmoopy was on time and we tried to figure out the place mats which appear to be selling rejuvenating honey. Or something. Then before we could order, she broke the news...Schmoopy is getting divorced. I was stunned because at our last meeting she'd vowed to "work it out." On the upside she looked very happy about the whole thing. But then I guess if you're getting divorced you would be very happy. If you're sad about it, well then maybe you should have stayed together.

Yes, girl. I put your business in the street.

I ordered the bacon and eggs, with a waffle. She got the Florentine omelet with home fries. She said she was hungry, but I warned her the portions weren't small. The restaurant crowd was sparse so our food appeared quickly - before the forks got to the table actually - and the girl was impressed. The omelet was huge, instead of the usual three strips of bacon they gave five or six, and the food was almost falling off the platters they served it on. On a side note, you now have to ask for the home fries, as somebody talked them into serving hash browns. We got a side of home fries.

She raved about the omelet (my entree suggestion), which came with something green and feta cheese, and she added ham. It appeared too green but tasted delicious, at least the part she shared with me. And the waffle was huge so we ended up splitting. My eggs were done perfectly, not too hard or too soft, and the only thing missing was onions in the has browns I didn't know I was getting. Nitpicking on my part.

Seeing how Schoompy can't be more than a size 2 or 3, I can't imagine where she's putting all this food we're eating.

Incidentally, my dining partner joins a growing list of women, who've known me and then moved on to other folks, and it er...didn't work out. I think the list is at five or six now. Schmoopy called me the reverse of Good Luck Chuck. I didn't find that amusing in the least. We talked about her for a while, then me for a while (and in effect Sporty) and until finally I think the waitress was just mad we wouldn't get up and go. What we she mad for, I tipped her like 20%. Oh, and I found out Schmoopy eats peanut butter on toast, which I might have to try once just to see.

So if you get a chance, hit the Landmark in Buckhead, or one of the Juniors..up by Roswell Rd and the other on Cheshire Bridge. It's a pretty good deal.

Barkeep...oh, did I forget to tell you they serve too?